31 October 2016

In my bedroom there
is a mosquito on the window, it makes thumping sounds as it runs into
the glass, in angular curves, like the ones on a cardiogram, moves
from one corner to the next. I'm in bed, arms under a pillow, and I'm
watching it. There is not much choice for the mosquito to go
elsewhere, the window is closed. I'd give it a moment before it will
sense there is warm blood on the pillow, an easy reach. The sky is
all grey, thick grey, it makes the mosquito look grey too.

A man with a pistol
walks out of the hallway, starts to pace in front of the building.

The wine last night
has left me with the disinclination to get out of bed too early. It
was a good red, too good to stop at a glass. I baked a loaf of
Russian rye and there were well-aged Dutch farmer's cheese, butter, a
couple of soft-boiled eggs that trod on the edge of hard, and the
remnants of an OK, store-bought roast chicken. We both agreed we could
have made a better chicken ourselves, but we'd been too hungry to
wait I suppose. Anyway, all that was dinner, and it was delicious. We
had it on the floor, with the balcony door open, 'a picnic'.

Downstairs police
cars are everywhere, a security cordon around the entrance. The man
has fired the pistol. Sirens break through the glass, come to a halt
quite near. I wonder what may be wrong, eyes tracking the mosquito's
ups and downs along the window frame.

The phone buzzes,
but it's so far away, on the computer desk. The thought of getting up
and out from under the warm blanket isn't so agreeable right now,
it's my free day after six days of work. I'll get out of bed when the
mosquito has finally reached me, I'm thinking. The phone buzzes
again, makes me curious. I'm now willing the mosquito to finally get
close enough to be annoying, so I have a good reason to make a move
myself. Now it starts ringing. I'm getting up.

It's 12 p.m. on the
phone clock, plus two messages and a missed call from Anthony. There
is a shooting right in front of our building, says
one, and a link
to a Dutch news
site in the other. I stare at the phone screen, make out that at
least no one is injured.

I
sit back down on the bed to call back Anthony. We exchange a few
incredulous can-you-believe-its.
After I hang up I reach for a newspaper by the bed and swat at the
mosquito. Got him. Then I
open the window and go
to the kitchen. I set the kettle on and
as I wait I cut a thick
slice of the rye bread from
last night to go with my
coffee. I'll spread honey on it now.It's my favourite most
comforting Russian bread --
Borodynsky.

This
is a beautiful bread: hearty,
moist, dark, dense, intensely
sour and flavoured
with coriander seeds. Somebody
I know even compared it to beer, something to do with the floral
coriander seeds. It's
certainly the most consumed bread in Russia, I grew up on it. Some
time ago a great idea descended
on me to make my own
Borodynsky.Now
I have a tub
with rye
sourdough starter in the fridge, I'm starting to think of it
as a pet, I only need to name it. Alriiiiight.

The
process is really straightforward. You need the aforementioned rye
sourdough starter that will require four days to fully come to life.
Then you make a production sourdough, which is going to be more
active than the starter itself, and which will be used, as the name
suggests, for the production of the bread. And then you make the main
dough. Frankly, it's almost a
one-bowl operation, save for
a tub and a loaf tin.

For the rye
sourdough starter

100
g dark rye flour

200
g very warm water (40 C)

For the
production sourdough

100
g rye sourdough starter

300
g dark rye flour

600
g very warm water (40 C)

For the dough

540
g production sourdough (the rest can be mixed into the sourdough
starter as a “feed”)

460
g dark rye flour

10
g fine sea salt

40
g unsulphured molasses

180
g warm water

2
teaspoons
whole coriander seeds, divided use

To make the rye
sourdough starter:

On
day 1 mix 25 g of dark rye flour with 50 g of warm water in a large
jar or a plastic tub with a lid. Keep out of the fridge. On day 2,3,4
continue adding another 25 g of dark rye flour and 50 g of warm
water. The starter will get a little bubbly, and that's of course a
very good thing. After the last feeding let the starter ferment for
another 24 hours out of the fridge before moving on to the next step
to make the production sourdough.

To make the
production sourdough:

Mix
100 g of the rye sourdough starter with the dark rye flour and warm
water in a large plastic tub. The rest of the rye sourdough starter
can be stored in the fridge, and fed with 25 g of dark rye flour and
50 g of warm water once every 2-3 days, and at least 24 hours ahead
of your next Borodynsky loaf.

Let
the production starter ferment, out of the fridge and for about 12
hours. Place
a bowl underneath
the tub in the (likely) event the production starter overflows; it
will get very bubbly.

In
a large bowl, mix all the ingredients together. It will be a very
sticky mass. Wet your hands and place the mixture in the tin. Even
it out, cover loosely (a clean plastic bag works well) and leave to
prove until the dough has increased in size by about one third. This
can take up to 4-5 hours.

Preheat
the oven to 220 C. When the dough is ready, sprinkle another teaspoon
of lightly crushed coriander seeds over the top. Bake for 10 minutes,
then turn the oven down to 200 C and bake for further 40 minutes.

Remove
from the oven and let rest for 5-10 minutes before turning out onto a
wire rack. If necessary, run a sharp knife along the sides of the tin to ease the bread out. Cool completely before storing (wrapped in cling film).
Borodynsky
is best the day after baking.

A few words

Hello, I am Anya Sokha (32). I am Russian, and Amsterdam, the Netherlands is my current home. Here I have been busying myself with various things, such as getting a master’s degree in English linguistics (finished!); being a bread baker (an apprentice before, and a dish-washer before that) in a French-style bakery; and figuring out where I should go next.

Godful Food has nothing to do with church and such. I made the word 'godful' up to show that food and writing are my religion. I was trying to be clever or something.